Dacrifilia

Silvia Rubi calls herself an artist. Dacryphilia’s the real job title: she gets off on tears. Tonight she’s got Maximilian Gambero in the chair under hot lights. Questions on love, fear, whatever cracks him open. His jaw stays tight, eyes gloss over anyway. She leans in, sharpens the blade. A memory slips past his guard. His throat clicks, moisture gathers. Silvia smiles like a knife sliding home, watching the first drop spill.